“What about him?”
“If he comes into the bar again, call me.”
Kayla snorts. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I plan to kill him.”
Kayla stops wiping down the stove and turns to Clay. “Great, so you want to make me an accessory to murder. I have watchedOrange Is the New Black, and I don’t need a Crazy Eyes.”
Clay puts the plate down and turns around to lean back against the sink with his arms crossed, staring at her across the kitchen. “I didn’t take you for someone to pussy out on getting revenge.”
“Murder is not the type of revenge I am after. I am more into spraying milk around his house, or paying someone to call him and give him spoilers for his favorite TV series. Not death.”
“He doesn’t get to treat women the way he does.”
Kayla straightens up and looks at him. “Is this you being concerned about me, Clay? Because I have to say I don’t knowhow to feel about that, given last night you had your hand around my throat in a grave and squeezed until I passed out.”
“You signed the form.”
“I did. But you are giving me whiplash.”
Clay glares at her for a long moment, and then instead of just saying he’s sorry like a normal person, he changes the subject. “I thought you were a bitch.”
“Oh, I am. And I still think you’re a dick, so we are even.”
Clay watches her for another few seconds and then turns back to the sink. He picks up the next plate, and she goes back to wiping, neither of them speaking again.
I pull her clothes out of the dryer, fold them, and check my phone screen one more time before I pocket it and head back to the kitchen.
Kayla
The past two weeks have been super weird. Clay comes to the bar every time I have a shift. I asked Rogue if she told him when I work, but she didn’t, so I don’t know how he knows. He doesn’t acknowledge me beyond a nod when he arrives, and when he orders a drink.
Vero, however, has been warned by Rogue not to annoy me while I am working. He follows me around and talks, or collects glasses and brings them back to the bar. If he doesn’t come in, he will text me silly reels or memes, and I can’t help how much I have grown to like the guy.
Thankfully, today is my night off. I received a mysterious message from Vero and a box, but I wasn’t allowed to open the box until tonight. So I stare it and wonder what the hell it could be.
When the clock hits seven, my phone buzzes.
Vero: Open it.
I undo the huge-ass bow on the top and drag off the lid. Inside is a pair of camo pants, a dark-green tank top, and camo face paint.
Then, as if he knows I have opened the box, a FaceTime call comes through from him.
“Are you excited? Have you gotten dressed yet? You are going to look so fucking hot.”
I laugh at how excited he is. “You need to back up a few steps. Why did you send me this?”
His brow furrows, and it’s almost as if he is trying to remember if he missed telling me something. “We have a new exhibit opening tonight for a trial run. I bet Nixie I could drink a graveyard smoothie—she didn’t believe I could. It was so gross it had me gagging, and I think I swallowed some of my own vomit. But because I won, we get to hold the first chase. It is so exciting. We get paintball guns or gel blasters, and I opted for paint because who doesn’t want to look like a rainbow when they are done? I know I do. It’s set as a military theme for the first round, but Nixie plans to change it up regularly.”
“Are you asking me to come back to the island?”
Vero smiles and Brawley pops his head into view on the screen. “Please say yes, he has not shut up all day waiting for you to open that stupid fucking box. It was adorable, but could have been avoided if he had hand-delivered the damn thing.”
Vero laughs. “I didn’t think of that. Next time I will deliver gifts in person. But what do you say, do you want to be a test dummy?”
“Do I get a gun?”
